


Flowers in the Dustbin

by Yognautical (KiiKitsune)



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: F/M, M/M, Piercings, Punk Rock AU, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 11:32:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2347004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiiKitsune/pseuds/Yognautical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Small snippets for each pair, set in a random AU where most of them are shitty punk-rock teenagers and the rest of them are caught up in the mess of ripped jeans and bodymods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flowers in the Dustbin

**Author's Note:**

> This whole thing spawned because Bamboo sent me http://instagram.com/p/tQp1IcP5IK/, and I couldn't help but think about Dave's "rocker days". Title is from 'God Save the Queen' by the Sex Pistols.

William knows better than to follow pretty boys with wicked smiles into back alleys. His parents raised him better than this. He has church tomorrow, but right now he’s in borrowed clothes and the marker ‘tattoos’ on his arms are starting to run with sweat. The blaring music is still just as loud and terrible outside as it is in. He doesn’t care. It’s all just background noise for the real reason he’s here. 

Parvis is saying something but Will’s ears are still ringing, so he just lets Parv take his hand and lead him into the darkest corner. There are other people back here; with shadowed faces and busy mouths. Spindly fingers find their way under the t-shirt that technically belongs to Parv. Will’s stomach flutters under the light brush, knots twisting deeper in his belly. He fists Parv’s studded leather jacket, watching the beads of perspiration rolling down Parv’s brow for a moment before tugging hard. Getting the message, Parv grabs Will by the hips and dips his head down to kiss him. Back meeting brick, Will’s breath is knocked out of him and into Parv’s parted lips. Parv tastes like cheap beer and his hands are already wandering down to the skull-decal belt buckle Parv had helped Will put on only a few hours ago. 

Later, Will’s going to sneak back into his parents’ house through the first floor window. He’s going to scrub his inky arms until they’re bright red and wash off the sticky feeling left behind on his prick. He’s going to take two breath mints and brush his teeth, and then go back to his normal life. 

But that’s later. Right now they’re going to fuck in this alleyway. Parv’s going to pull Will’s pants down around his thighs and jack him off against the wall of a shitty club with a bunch of people right next to them and even more just inside. 

Will shudders and holds on tighter. 

\--

Lalna gasps, taking in great gulps of air when Nano pulls him out from under the tap. 

“Oh, don’t be such a baby.” 

More water cascades down into his mouth when he opens it to speak, so he spits and let her dunk him again. 

The towel she uses to dry him off is already stained with past dye jobs. It’s utilitarian, the way she drops it over his head and rubs hard so vigorously he feels like he’s gone for a spin in a blender. The blow-dryer is loud in his ears and the comb scrapes his scalp, but when she finally turns him around to see himself in the mirror he can’t help but grin. 

His head is bright, vibrant purple. Nano drapes herself over his shoulder, the longer part of her undercut mingling with his hair. The tips of hers blend into his, almost identical in colour. 

“We are going to kick so much ass tonight.”

“Hell yeah,” Lalna says, “But I’m not letting you near Sjin.”

She pouts, “Just… a little? A little Sjin ass kicking?”

“No.”

“You’re no fun,” Nano knocks their heads together, “After everything I’ve done for you.”

Lalna wraps his arm around her tiny waist and hugs her close. 

\--

Matt focuses hard on the mixed tape Phil had given him when they decided to do this, scrunching his face up tight as the bent safety pin slides through the soft flesh of his ear. It looked easier in the movies. The guitar riffs aren’t enough to take his mind off the sting of the needle wiggling and pulling out again.

Phil pushes the golden stud through the new hole as quickly as he can. He must get the angle wrong, because Matt lets out a high whine and clutches as Phil’s sleeveless shirt before the stud settles into place. Phil tosses the potato onto the other side of the couch and picks up the bag of ice they’d prepared. He holds it to Matt’s ear, gently as possible, and lays quick kisses across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. 

“It’s done, it’s done. Shhh.” 

It’s a good thing they did Phil’s first, because Matt is in no state to do much of anything now. Phil slides down onto the couch beside Matt, pressing his own gently throbbing ear to the other side of the icepack. Matt reaches across his lap and knits their fingers together. 

After a few minutes of the fuzzily recorded vocals of Joey Ramone, Matt sniffs and says, “That wasn’t punk at all.”

Phil chuckles, squeezing his fingers. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“Deal.”

\--

Bebop wears deliberately offensive t-shirts and has so many piercings he might as well be made of metal. His eyes are always bright with mischief and Ridge hates when the little shit shows up at his locker after school.

“Fuck off, Vox.”

The blond flashes his teeth. “Daddy-Mayor lets you get away with swearing like that?”

“My father’s not here. I’ll swear all I like.”

“‘I’ll swear all I like’,” Bebop parrots, laughing obnoxiously. Ridge grits his teeth. 

Casting a glance around the otherwise empty hall, Ridge grabs Bebop’s wrist and drags him away. The flat studs of his wristband dig into Ridge’s palm, and it sends a little shock of heat through his chest. 

Bebop may be the most annoying person Ridge has ever had the displeasure of meeting, but fuck if he doesn’t look perfect on his knees. Having his mouth full goes a long way in making him more bearable too.

\--

Sips smokes behind the YogDonald’s on Main Street whenever he skips school. Assistant-manager Xephos chased him off the first few times but, by the third week, one too many angry customers and the ever-present smell of fry grease has him bumming a smoke instead. 

The lanky man leans back against the dumpster with a sigh, letting Sips flick the lighter on an inch from his face. Touching the dumpster is disgusting and definitely not up to food safety standards, but he just doesn’t care anymore. 

Sips blows smoke out his nostrils and pockets the lighter, “Long day?”

Xephos takes his stupid visor off and shoves it into the pocket of his apron, speaking around the cigarette. “The longest, friend.”

Sips laughs. “Friend? You were practically hitting me with a mop last week, like I was a raccoon.”

“To be fair, you sort of look like one.” Xephos nods at his eyeliner rimmed eyes. Sips snorts.

Ember reaching the filter of his cigarette, Sips drops it and crushes it under his heel. “Shit, that wasn’t nearly enough. Gave you my last one too, you lucky bastard.”

Xephos takes a long pull, looking amused. “I’m not giving it back.”

Sips is stout and solid, half a head shorter than Xephos, but imposing enough when he steps into Xephos’ space. Xephos covers his surprise with another drag of the cigarette. Before he can exhale, Sips has curled thick fingers into the front of his ridiculous uniform and pried his mouth open with an insistent tongue. 

Xephos jolts, but Sips hold fast, inhaling deeply, stealing the smoke right out of Xephos’ lungs. When he lets Xephos go, the older man is flushed. Sips laughs and plucks the cigarette from his fingers. “I better get back to class. Wouldn’t wanna miss those important life lessons. See you later, ‘friend’.”

Xephos watches him go, wiping his mouth as an afterthought.

\--

Dave Chaos picks his own name. It’s a bit like Sid Vicious, he thinks. He gets his boots from an army surplus store and finds the rest of his clothes at goodwill. He looks like a homeless reject before he takes a needle and thread and a pair of scissors to it. He shaves his own head the first time too, but only the first time. It’s all patchy and uneven when he does it himself, so he lets the other Dave sit him down on the steps outside his apartment building with an extension cord and an electric razor. Kirin’s palm is broad and warm, cradling one side of Dave’s head while the razor buzzes along the other. Tufts of brown flitter away onto the dusty street. 

When he’s done, Kirin runs fingers slick with pomade through the remaining hair, spiking it straight up. Dave goes back inside to stare at himself in the tiny bathroom mirror while Kirin winds up the cord. 

Dave runs a thumb over the skin above his upper lip, feeling the little hairs starting to poke through. He could probably work a moustache, if he tried.

“Don’t even think about it,” Kirin says, appearing at the door, arms crossed. Dave tries to look innocent. 

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Bullshit. Not everyone should have facial hair and you know it. Stick with what looks good on you.” Kirin laughs, reaching out and flicking the collar of Dave’s jean vest. 

“I guess we can’t all be so lucky, eh Chops?” Dave catches Kirin’s chin and taps his forefinger with its thick platinum snake ring against Kirin’s own blond face-fluff.

Kirin turns his face into Dave’s hand, pressing a kiss to the ring, then the star tattoo on Dave’s ring finger. Moving Dave’s hand aside, he slides into the bathroom behind Dave, setting his hands down on Dave’s shoulders. With the choppy hair out of the way, the two-headed snake tattoo curled up at the base of his neck is perfectly visible. Kirin’s chapped lips drag across the inked skin, a soft kiss over bared fangs. Dave tilts his head down, watching Kirin in the mirror. Grabbing the sink as Kirin presses him into it, grinding against his ass, Dave grins. 

“Is this my payment for the haircut?”

“No. It’s payment for crashing at my apartment.”

“Who said I was staying over?”

“I did. Just now.” Kirin’s hum vibrates through his skin.

“Cheeky bugger,” Dave says, even as he rubs back against the other man. He watches them move together, examines Kirin’s hands as they strip him of his modified clothes and appreciates the way more ink is revealed the barer he gets. Kirin’s pierced ears glint in the incandescent bathroom light. They look good. He looks good; like he finally fits in his own body. Dave closes his eyes and savours the feeling.


End file.
